Plain Hermione Jane
by Behindthebook08
Summary: "My plain Jane never wears no lipstick or paint, she'll never ever try to be what she ain't... I can never ever tell you, why I love her like I do. But if you took her out for one fine night, you'd feel the same way I do." Hermione/Draco, loosely based on Bobby Darin's song "Plain Jane".


**A/N: I'm sorry that this isn't an update to Unrequited, but I hope you enjoy this little musing. My muse hasn't been cooperating lately, but I'm trying! This fic is another from my Song of My Heart series, where each story is based on a different paring, and a different song. This story is a Draco/Hermione inspired by the Bobby Darin Classic, Plain Jane. If you are interested in seeing what I'm doing with my stories, and links to the actual songs I'm writing about, consider following me on Twitter. LadyChristineM. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>He stared from behind the bookshelf, a slight furrow in his brow as he watched her, studied her.<p>

He knew she wasn't really all that attractive—not _really_. His mother was an attractive woman; she had good bone structure, well-kept hair, and a slim figure. Her teeth were straight, her symmetry unquestionable, and her fashion sense was top notch and respectable. She was inarguably the type of woman a man should find _attractive_.

This woman, bent over a stack of books, a smudge of ink on her right hand, was _not _attractive. Her hair was disastrous, completely lacking discipline or effort. It twisted at unnatural angles, and uneven lengths. It seemed to grow and curl as it pleased, depending on her mood.

Her smile was odd. In early years, she had teeth far too large for her face, and looked rather reminiscent of a beaver. While she had certainly improved that, her smile was still overly large and far larger than is considered appropriate.

He had to admit, she had grown into a rather attractive figure, but it was entirely impossible to notice underneath the badly fitted robes she wore on a daily basis. Obviously bought to be grown into, she had stopped growing at some point and simply refused to purchase new ones. Goodness knows she had the money, after all the ministry reparations she had received. And yet her robes were three seasons too late, slightly too long, and wrapped about her rather like a tent. Sure, her other clothes were tailored, her skirts could have even been argued to be _too _small, but underneath those robes—you couldn't see a thing.

Her nose was pointy, and her ears a bit lopsided, in his opinion. Her voice was pretentious, and she never even considered wearing any sort of makeup to better accentuate the positive features which she did have.

So looking at all of these characteristics, combined with her terrible lineage and swottish tendencies, why on earth couldn't he keep his damned eyes off of her? Why did he always seem to be caught gaping at her as she walked past, or smiling fondly at the reckless abandon which she called hair? Why did he absolutely marvel at the spark in her eyes whenever she laughed, and why did he continually wish that it was _his_ robes which were draped about her over-covered body?

He had gone seven years absolutely despising this girl, resenting her very existence, and yet this year—this final year, he couldn't seem to look away.

"Malfoy," her voice called out from the table, and he was shocked into dropping several books. "Can I borrow you for just a moment?"

Quickly reclaiming the books, he made his way around the shelves and to her table. Had she seen him watching? No, she couldn't have. Probably just Head's business. That's all; she always seemed to be wanting some sort of meeting.

"Granger," he drawled as he approached; his ever-present smirk firmly in place. "Why _must_ you interrupt my studies?"

She rolled her eyes lightly, and he suppressed a smile. She placed a bookmark to hold her page, and then looked at him, her oversized smile lighting up her face. "I just wanted to ask you a quick favor, if you have the time."

Always polite. That was another imperfection. Couldn't the imp just tell him what she wanted? Must we go through this dance _every_ time? "And what would that be?"

"Well, if you are going to stare at me in such a dizzying fashion, could you at least explain the reason behind it? I'm starting to worry that you're plotting again. Or, if you'd rather not explain, you could at least sit with me. Staring is far less unsettling when the person is sitting with you, rather than peering from behind bookshelves, don't you think?"

His face heated up, and he could only pray that the colour wasn't showing so obviously as it seemed. "Granger, you know I'm not plotting," he said simply, grabbing on to the easiest response at his disposal, and the most honest one. She knew he wasn't actually interested in any of his father's insanity. She had told him on their first day as Heads.

He smiled recalling her frazzled manner as she explained to him that she didn't want to fight anymore, especially if they were to be sharing a space. She babbled on awkwardly about how she knew he never wanted to actually cause any trouble, and obviously it was all his father, and how she had seen his face the day she was tortured, how she _knew_ that he wanted to help, but couldn't.

She had even told him that she forgave him, and that she was sorry she hadn't tried harder to befriend him earlier.

He had, of course, laughed off the entire thing and agreed that they didn't need to be enemies anymore, awkwardly avoiding the entire subject.

Now, from her table, she smiled lightly at him, and he felt that damnable whirling in his gut again, "Oh, I know Draco. You were never really interested in any of that, obviously. But that doesn't make stalking any less odd."

"I'm—I'm sorry," he coughed. There she went again, proclaiming awkward truths. "I didn't realize just how much I was doing it, er, staring I mean, not stalking. I'm, er, not stalking you. It won't happen again."

He stood to leave, cursing his lack of articulation, but as he stepped away she grabbed his hand, her cold fingers touching his skin ever so lightly. Looking back at her, he found her blushing lightly. "Just so you know, you really don't have to go. I really meant that. You-you should feel free to study with me, if you'd like. But you don't have to."

He glanced towards his feet, a habit which would have had his mother twitching, and back towards to blushing brunette. "I suppose that'd be nice, Granger er-Hermione." Walking away from her briefly, to gather his own things from across the room, he couldn't help but shake his head slightly, an unexpected smile gracing his pale face.

She wasn't _attractive_, not really, not if you really looked at her. She was rather plain, truth be told. But somehow, when it was all put together, and when she smiled at you, she cast a spell which just couldn't be shaken.

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><p><strong>Hopefully you enjoyed, please consider leaving a quick review for me! And check out my other stories!<strong>


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